


Delicate

by Anonymous



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dancing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), but before endgame, these two need a break honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 17:37:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18609307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Despite the pain, the hopelessness, the sadness, she wants to remember the time she danced with Steve, when words seemed too lacking, only communicating through touches and shared hurt.





	Delicate

**Author's Note:**

> I just can't write them happy, can I?

They’re sitting in that abandoned room when music reaches their ears. It’s faint enough for them to ignore it if they choose to do so, but Steve concentrates on it. He doesn’t recognize the song, and that means it could be from the fifties or nineties and he wouldn’t know.  

The notes are slow and have a touch of melancholy in them, and Steve thinks it’s fitting. They are quite melancholic themselves.  

Steve doesn’t dance, hasn’t ever danced, but he looks at Natasha and hears the notes, and he’s struck with the desire to just sway with the beat. Natasha stares at him, and he stares back. She’s got her red hair again, he shaved the beard. They look like they did ages ago, when everything was simpler. They aren’t the same though, they’ll never be the same. It’s another layer of nostalgia that hits him. 

He stands up, and stretches an arm for her, a clear invitation to dance. She chuckles, and it’s bitter sounding. She shakes her head, but stands up all the same. 

Steve puts a hand on her waist, and grabs her hand. It’s a typical pose he has seen many times, but haven’t done it himself. He should feel awkward, and his limbs should be stiff. Except he isn’t feeling awkward and his limbs are relaxed. Perhaps that’s the effect of living in each other’s pockets for years. Maybe it’s just how Natasha is just as relaxed, with a hand on his shoulder. 

The music somehow seems louder. They sway to the sad notes, slow and gentle. The setting sun filters through the windows, bathing them with red beams.  

Everything feels fragile, like any sudden move would shatter this temporary peace they were dying for. They both feel this way, it seems, because they don’t move, apart from the swaying. The song keeps going, or maybe someone has it on repeat, but it doesn’t stop. Even when the sun disappears, they keep dancing. 

Natasha sighs, and stands on Steve’s feet. Tired beyond anything she felt before. She leans her forehead on his shoulder, breathes him in. The hand on her waist is now supporting her weight, rather than just being there. Steve’s cheek rests on top of her head.  

He’s warm. He’s always been warm no matter the weather. Being so close to him is like a heavy, comfort blanket dropped on her shoulders. Despite everything, Steve is strong. So strong that she wishes she could go in his head and comfort him there. His strength is what keeps most of them going, but she wishes he would drop it a little, and be weak for once. Be selfish for once.  

She lets go of his hand to wrap her arms around his neck. He responds with both arms wound up tightly around her, desperately pulling her closer.  

The music stops, but they don’t let go. They’re still and quiet. Natasha stills even more at the wet patch on her shoulder. He’s... he’s crying. She doesn’t pull back to see the tears, instead, she brings him closer, and that should be impossible, but it isn’t. The wetness in her own eyes isn’t lost to her. She ignores it for the time being, and she focuses on holding Steve together just for now. 

She held him like this long ago, after Peggy's funeral. He didn’t cry then, he accepted the hug in silence. She held him like this, not too long ago. Right after the battle, right after they lost. He was trembling then, a mess of emotions. He didn’t cry though.  

She holds him now, and he cries, and she wonders about the last time he let his shields like this.  

Eventually, he loosens his arms. She’s still on his feet, he doesn’t seem to mind much. He pulls back, stares at her face. One arm leaves her back, his fingers coming up to gently wipe her tears away. Steve isn’t smiling, and she doesn’t remember the last time he smiled, but his expression is so soft it hurts. He’s the one who’s been crying, yet he’s the one trying to offer her some comfort.  

Natasha could really hit him, and demand him to be selfish. Instead she nuzzles his hand that’s still on her cheek, and closes her eyes. She knows Steve. He won’t rest till he’s done everything and then some to fix this. He’s too selfless for his own good. She doesn’t tell him that. She doesn’t think she can talk around the lump in her throat.  

She opens her eyes, to find him staring at her. She hopes her eyes can convey her feelings. When his face softens even more, she thinks he understands.  

Whatever happens next, Natasha thinks, she wants to remember this moment forever. Despite the pain, the hopelessness, the sadness, she wants to remember the time she danced with Steve, when words seemed too lacking, only communicating through touches and shared hurt.  

And when they fall asleep on the couch, her head on his chest, Natasha thinks that maybe they can have this after it’s all over. Maybe they’ll still have each other. She hopes so, at least. 


End file.
